


Ambush

by knockoutmouse



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Developing Friendships, Gen, Hate Crimes, Heroic Steve, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, Hurt/Comfort, Period-Typical Homophobia, cheetos, unnecessary backstory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-07
Updated: 2019-01-07
Packaged: 2019-10-05 20:56:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17332202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/knockoutmouse/pseuds/knockoutmouse
Summary: Billy, for whatever reason, thinks that Keith must be gay. Billy gets violent. Steve comes to the rescue, eventually (and totally gives in to his maternal instincts and takes Keith under his wing).Rating for violence and language.Set post season 2.





	Ambush

**Author's Note:**

> First fic for this fandom and I'm pretty nervous about posting it. 
> 
> Just as a sort of disclaimer: 
> 
> Billy's behavior/language here are meant to be seen as Very Very Bad.
> 
> Other characters have a bit of the casual homophobia that is reflective of the time period. 
> 
> These are not things that I, the author, condone in any way. ~~Also I am queer.~~

It was a rainy night, but Keith didn’t care very much about the weather. He was just going to play Atari games when he got home anyway, unless the new issue of his favorite computer magazine had come in the mail. 

But first he had to stop by the convenience store and pick up some more Cheetos. The bag he had now wouldn’t last until morning.

“Hey, loser,” came the voice from the doorway of the bank. A figure stepped out from the building. In the darkness, Keith could hazily recognize the guy that sometimes picked up Mad Max from the arcade. Her older brother or stepbrother, something like that. 

“Um, hi?” he ventured. “Bobby, right?” 

“What’s it matter?” sneered Bobby, if that was his name. “Or do you just want to know what name to scream when you imagine me pounding you in the ass?” 

“Oh, right, it’s Billy—wait, what?” 

Billy had taken on an aggressive stance, only a few steps away from him now. 

“Just admit you’re a fucking queer already.” 

“What? No, I’m not,” said Keith, hoping that his nerves didn’t betray his voice. Besides, he wasn’t even gay--he liked girls. Not that any of them wanted to go out with him, but still. 

Billy’s fist connected with the side of his face then. Keith had never been in a real fight. He’d gotten beaten up, sure, but not since the sixth grade, when he’d gotten _tall_. Not that he’d become popular or anything, but at least most people didn’t try to push him around anymore.

The blow sent him to his knees on the sidewalk. The bag of Cheetos fell from his hand, scattering across the rain-washed concrete. 

Billy struck him again, and pain exploded through his temple, his vision whiting out for an instant. 

“Quit it,” he pleaded, trying to scramble away on his hands and knees. 

Billy’s boot came up to kick him in the shoulder, sending him sprawling backwards onto the sidewalk. 

Billy strode over to him, seized him by the hair, and yanked his head back painfully, lowering himself to be only inches away from his face. 

“Fucking say it,” he snarled. “Say you’re a fucking faggot.” 

“No, come on—” He yelped in pain as the combat boot in his stomach told him that this had been the wrong answer. 

“Okay,” he gasped out as Billy grabbed him by the throat. “I’m a—a fucking faggot, okay?” 

His eyes were watering, from pain or fear or humiliation, or some combination of the three, he didn’t know. All he knew was that he needed to say whatever was necessary to get away from Billy. 

He’d thought Billy would let him go, would be satisfied with the degradation of forcing him to say it. 

He was wrong. 

Billy let go of him, then immediately backhanded him across the face. “You’re fucking disgusting, you know that? Fags fuck kids, too. I got a little sister to look after.” 

“No—” Keith tried to stand, but he was dizzy, and before he could get to his feet, Billy had punched him in the face again. 

“Yeah? How do you like that?” 

“ _Hey!_ ” shouted a new voice from somewhere behind Keith. He heard footsteps rapidly approaching, and then someone half-tackled Billy, slamming him against the wall of the building. 

Keith’s vision focused again, and he saw that it was Steve Harrington. Great. That was just what he needed, the popular jock seeing him getting his ass kicked so he could go and tell everyone about it— 

“Get the hell out of here,” Steve was ordering Billy. And Billy seemed to have lost some of his venom now, looked scared, even, which came as a surprise. 

“Don’t let me see you bother him again,” said Steve. “Now get lost.” 

Billy took off running into the night. 

Steve came over to Keith and helped him to his feet. 

“Shit,” he said, surveying him. “Are you okay?” 

Keith nodded, not trusting himself to speak. 

“What happened?” 

“Nothing,” he managed. “It’s nothing.” 

“That didn’t look like nothing,” said Steve. When Keith didn’t reply, Steve went on, soothingly, almost as if he were talking to a child, “Let’s go get you cleaned up, all right? I’ll drive you home.” 

It was only a few blocks to Keith’s house, but the amount of effort required to explain this outweighed the amount of effort it would take to simply follow Steve and get into his car, so that’s what he did. 

Steve turned out to remember, or know somehow, where he lived. He vaguely recalled that they’d worked on a group project together at his house in biology a long time ago. 

When they pulled into the empty driveway, Steve asked, “Are your—is your mom home?” 

Keith shook his head. He supposed it was nice of Steve to remember at the last second not to say parents, since his father had died when he was twelve. 

“Come on,” said Steve. Obediently, Keith followed him onto the front porch, up to the door, and then belatedly remembered that it was him who had to unlock it. He fumbled for his keys, unlocked the door, and stepped inside, flipping on the lights. Steve followed, closing the door behind them. 

Taking him by the arm, like he didn’t want to touch him, like he had a disease—Steve led him to the bathroom. Keith was surprised to see in the mirror that there was blood on his face—a lot of blood.

Steve turned on the tap, grabbed a hand towel from the towel rack, and ran it under the warm water. “Here, sit down,” he instructed.  
Keith obeyed, taking a seat on the edge of the bathtub. Steve wiped the blood from his face. Keith winced at the touch of the terrycloth against his lacerated skin, even though Steve was being gentle. 

Several times, Steve seemed to be on the verge of saying something, but each time, he glanced uncomfortably at Keith and kept silent. 

“You know,” Steve said finally, as he rummaged in the medicine cabinet and found a tube of antiseptic cream, “I, uh, I have this cousin who’s gay. I mean, _I’m_ not,” he added quickly, “but it’s, you know, not a big deal--a lot of people--”

“I’m not gay!” Keith snatched the antiseptic from Steve, and in his indignation, squeezed out an excessive amount, which he smeared haphazardly over his face. Immediately he realized that this had been a bad idea. “Ow, shit.”

“I mean, if you are, it’s--it’s okay,” said Steve, still looking vaguely uncomfortable, but apparently sincere. 

Keith sighed. “I’m really not. I like girls. I like--” He stopped. Steve Harrington was the last person he wanted to admit this to, but what was the worst that could happen at this point? “I had a crush on Nancy for a really long time. You can get mad, I don’t care,” he added, although even to him it sounded more pathetic than defiant. 

Steve shrugged. “Nancy and I are just friends now. You could ask her out if you want.” He handed Keith the box of band-aids from the medicine cabinet. 

“I did. She said no,” admitted Keith. “I got over it. Besides, she’s going out with Jonathan Byers now.”

Steve disappeared down the hallway, and Keith wondered if he’d gone too far, reminding him of his breakup with Nancy. Whatever. It’s not like Steve was even his friend. He eyed the band-aids, trying to figure out how in the world they’d ever be able to cover up all his injuries. His mother was going to have a heart attack when she saw him. Maybe if he hid in his room for a couple days--

He pressed a band-aid in place over the worst cut on his cheek. 

“Jonathan’s a good guy,” said Steve from the bathroom doorway. He handed Keith the ice pack he had apparently made in the kitchen. “Once you get to know him. It’s like that with a lot of people. Probably even you.”

Keith had been half-listening to Steve as he tried to figure out where he needed the ice pack the most--it seemed like _everything_ hurt. Then he caught up with Steve’s words. “Wait, what? What do you mean, even me?”

“You’re all right,” said Steve. “You just, you know, need to get out more. Talk to people. Maybe cut back on the Cheetos,” he suggested. 

“I--I guess that’s a possibility,” said Keith. He wasn’t exactly thrilled at the suggestion, but maybe it was time for a change. 

“Besides,” added Steve, “now that I know you like girls, we can totally find you a girlfriend.” He shot another glance at Keith. “Sooner or later.”

“For real?”

“Sure,” said Steve. “I know lots of girls.” He grinned. “Let’s hang out on Saturday. I’ll introduce you to some people.”

“Oh,” said Keith cautiously. “That would be okay, I guess.”

“I have to get going,” said Steve with a glance at his watch. “You’ll be all right?”

“I mean, I’m not going to die before my mom gets home,” said Keith morosely. “Probably.”

“Great,” said Steve, starting down the hallway. He turned when he reached the front door. “Saturday, all right?”

“Yeah,” said Keith. As the front door fell closed behind Steve, he pressed the ice pack to his temple and sank down onto the sofa cushions. He grabbed the TV remote and turned it on. Flipping through channels for a while would help him avoid thinking about what had happened with Billy--about the throbbing, stinging, _inescapable_ pain. 

What a weird, miserable night this had been. Probably in the morning he would feel less like throwing up, or crying, or both, the way he did right now. Probably things would turn out all right. Sooner or later.


End file.
